Danika

For some reason, Greer insists on coming with me to the bodega. He seems more focused on my feet than anything else, but I’m so grateful for the respite from the party, I just switch off my brain and enjoy the cool night air on my bare arms.

When I glance over at Greer, his frown is now being directed at my back. “Do you want to tell me about your tough day?”

“No, I want you to tell me about yours.”

What is up with his mood swings? He arrived in a black mood, but cooled off when I promised to kiss him. Now he’s back to needing a nap. “You sound like a man trying very hard to remain calm.”

“Good detective work.” I merely raise a questioning eyebrow and wait for him to continue. “You could have asked someone to bring beer. Or help you organize the party. The people in your life would probably bend over backwards to help you out, but you never ask. It’s a waste, Danika.”

My blood feels light and tingly. All because he’s taking time to make observations about me. It’s silly, but I can’t help it. “Maybe I’m just saving up for a really big favor.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Do you know how to laugh?”

His scowl could send schoolchildren screaming for their mothers. “If I hadn’t shown up, you’d be walking down Tenth Avenue right now by yourself, in the dark, looking hot enough to tempt a monk. You’re exhausted, there’re red marks on your ankles and your plan was to schlep a bunch of heavy beer four blocks and up two flights of stairs without any help. Why? And if you tell me people are thirsty, I will make your probation even worse.”

Well. Things are certainly getting interesting. “How so?”

“You’ll have to check in twice a day. Going forward.”

Amateur. “People are thirsty.”

I’ve just admitted I like talking to him, which basically shoots me up to a ten on the vulnerability scale. I mean, he could cut me off at the knees in so many ways here. He could tell me he wasn’t serious, and I don’t need to call him twice a day. Or he could tell me I’m pushing things to that serious level they were never meant to go. Unfortunately what he does instead only makes my heart knock in a masochistic rhythm. He stares over at me with a surprised expression, as if he can’t believe I would want to speak to him more often.

“Um. Anyway.” I blow out a breath into the silence. “Since you’re so weirdly concerned . . . I’m not sure why I take everything on alone. I’ve been doing it so long.” Pressing my lips together, I think back and search for a better answer. “When my father hurt his back, I started doing repairs and heavy lifting around the house. My mother might seem flighty, but she’s actually a total badass, so she could probably pick up the slack my father left, but it’s how we spend time together. It makes her happy. I like making people happy, even if I have to annoy them into it.” We reach the bodega, and Greer follows me through the propped-open door. “Does that put a ding in my street cred?”

“No,” Greer answers quietly. I can feel him watching me closely as I slide open the industrial fridge and lift out a case of Miller Lite. I hug it to my chest in preparation for waddling to the counter, but Greer stops me with a look and gestures for me to hand it over. “You’ll survive watching me carry it.”

I hesitate. “I’m not a martyr, you know.”

He takes the case and throws it beneath one brawny arm. Lifting his free hand, he hesitates a second, then strokes the tips of his fingers down the side of my face, looking at me as if I’m a wonderfully complicated puzzle. One that maybe he doesn’t feel capable of solving, but wishes like hell he could. Which I didn’t realize until this moment is the exact way I—and maybe every woman on the planet—wants to be looked at. Right? Yes. Except for the whole part about him not thinking he can figure me out. I refuse to let him get rid of me—doesn’t that solve any mysteries about what I want? Him. “Martyr, cowgirl, loyal friend, secret stamp collector.” He shakes his head. “All those things and more. You don’t belong to any one category.”

And then he turns on a heel and walks toward the counter. As if he didn’t just slay me.

Wow. Oh. This is bad. I’m falling for the lieutenant.

Hard.

I’m blown out of my stupor when Greer pulls out his wallet to pay. “No.” I march forward, deftly ignoring the cashier’s sigh. “You’re not even drinking.”

“I’ll put one in the trunk for later if you can just take this tiny baby step.”

“I didn’t know probation included immersion therapy.” I give a pained grin and make a sound like I’m dying. It’s involuntary. But knowing the kiss I’m going to lay on him before the night is over, I guess I can justify letting him pay. “Fine.”

He cracks a smile, and it has the effect of candle wax pooling between my legs. His bicep winks at me when he shoulders the case of beer and the overall effect is nothing short of mesmerizing. Just having him with me on this tedious errand is mesmerizing. On the heels of realizing I’ve taken a dive into the infatuation deep end, my brain is playing catch-up. I’m into Greer big-time, and I’m still pretty sure he’s dead set against taking us any further. And this is the first time the possibility I could fail hits me. Hits me hard. “I—I should be getting back.”

His frown blusters back in. “We’re taking our time. People can fill their own fucking cups. It’s a skill we learn in childhood.”

It takes an effort, but I ignore the new ache in my belly. “Is it too late to hire you as entertainment for the party?”

“You can’t afford me.”

I don’t realize we’re having a smirk-off until the cashier starts tapping his fingers on the counter. In other words, get to stepping. We walk back out onto the sidewalk, the sounds of Hell’s Kitchen swishing around us. A green light sends a fleet of cabs flying up the avenue, there’s music coming from a parked car stereo, food sizzles on a halal cart. I’ve walked this path to the bodega a million times in my life, but it looks entirely different with Greer walking beside me. I’m trying to see it through his experienced cop eyes, wondering what his mind is registering. Wondering if this is the first and only time we’ll walk this path together.

As if that thought has an outward effect, the wave of traffic dies down and suddenly the only sound is my heels clicking on the sidewalk. The pulse ticcing in my neck. I glance over at Greer, and he’s staring, somehow encompassing me, head to toe, with rapt concentration. And I’m not even going to lie, independent woman or not, I don’t mind this big, ripped, uniformed lieutenant carrying my beer for me. No, I do not.

He likes it, too, I realize. When we pass a group of people outside my building, he moves closer to me, pride flexing his jaw. That bicep flexes, too, and somewhere an angel gets its wings.

Inside the vestibule, Greer waits for me to head up the stairs first, but I still feel on the vulnerable end of the spectrum after having him pay for the beer. And also realizing my feelings for him run deeper than I thought. So I shake my head. “Age before beauty.”

Looking a little confused, he nonetheless shrugs and takes the first few steps. But when he casts a glance over his shoulder, his eyebrows draw together. “Are you checking out my ass?”

I follow behind him slowly, trailing a finger along the bannister and admiring his firm butt without an ounce of shame. “Ten-four, lieutenant.”

“Christ.”

“Are you self-conscious?”

He lets out a harsh scoff. “No.” We reach the first landing, and he rolls his shoulders. “Fine, a little.”

My sides hurt from trying to hold in my laughter. “Okay, fine. My turn.” I breeze past him, only vaguely registering my aching feet at this point. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

I can’t remember a time I ever experienced this breathless, edgy excitement around a boy. Or man, as the case may be. But it’s tripling the speed of my blood flow now. There’s cotton candy and clouds weaving together in my stomach as I sway my hips, taking my hair out and shaking it as I climb. Knowing he’s behind me watching is making me wet, making me crazy.

I’m not alone. The second we reach my parents’ floor, Greer sets down the case of beer, spins me around and slams me against the wall. Yes, slams. It doesn’t hurt either, because he leads with his hips. Pinning me. Instantly, I’m breathing like I just swam the Hudson.

His stubbled chin rasps against my smooth one. That’s how close we are. Daylight would struggle to find space between our mouths. It’s there, but just barely. “Are you finished with your fun now?”

“Feels like it’s just starting,” I gasp out, thanks to his belt pressing into my tummy. Hard. And I can feel what’s contained just beneath it, too. “Oh.”

“Give me my kiss,” he demands.

Thank God for the wall or I’d be in a heap. “If you want it so bad, take it.”

“Oh, I want it. I’ve been regretting not just taking it since the other night.”

My legs are aching to wrap around his waist, but I force myself to remember our surroundings and potential nosy neighbors. Not to mention I’m curious about what he said. “Why didn’t you take it?”

He seems to search for an answer. “There’s a before and after to when I’m in charge with you. I need the boundaries.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you both ways.” His forehead pushes against mine so I can’t see his eyes, but I feel his fast breath, the shuddering lift and fall of his chest. “I like how you are when I’m in control.”

“And you like me when I refuse to take orders, too.”

“Yes.”

His confession affects me in two ways. One? I’m turned on like a nighttime skyscraper. Two, I’m kind of pissed. That’s right, pissed. We’re good for each other, and he’s going to fight against us becoming something real, isn’t he? Maybe hard enough for me to walk away at some point. But not right now. In this moment, I want to revel in the knowledge that this man likes me . . . for me. That we’ve argued, I’ve frustrated and disappointed him, and yet he showed up at my mother’s birthday with a brownie. And he wants the kiss I promised. Lord, he wants it bad.

“You’re in charge now,” I whisper. Amazing how words coming from my own mouth make my muscles go slack, my neck loosen.

In response to my body’s pliancy, Greer’s hardens. Everywhere. His chest, stomach and thighs mold to my softness, flattening me to the wall slowly, in painstaking degrees while he studies my mouth like a scientist does with a glass slide. I can feel the full outline of his erection on my stomach, but I don’t want to wrap my legs around him anymore. No, I want him to wrap them for me. Or command me to do it.

We breathe into one another’s mouths for devastating moments before I feel Greer’s hand wedge between our hips. It drags down, just to the right of my mound, then moves lower, lower, the pads of his fingers brushing my bare inner thigh, before continuing its climb beneath my dress. I’m whimpering, and he hasn’t even kissed me yet, but the mere knowledge that his strong, capable hand is under my skirt is enough to dampen my panties. To create a moan in my throat.

That moan turns to a trapped scream when Greer wedges his hand between my thighs and grips my juncture. Hard. “Say it again.”

“You’re in charge now,” I manage, my head falling back to hit the wall. Oh God, it’s like everything inside me redirects and flies toward his touch, needing to be as close as possible.

“When you go back to the party, no more running around. No more going out for supplies or making yourself tired.” He speaks with his mouth directly over my pulse, and the effect is a seismic tremor down the length of my body, ending where I’m tucked inside his palm. Pulsing. “If anyone or anything wears you out, baby, it’s going to be me. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Good girl.” His tongue finds my pulse, and I jerk like I’ve been struck by lightning. I hang there, in that state of electrified heat, while his mouth moves on my neck, teeth scraping, tongue tasting. His lips move higher, trailing over my chin where our mouths finally meet. And then there’s no more going slow. There’s only fast and wild after that.

It’s less of a kiss, more a devouring. His mouth opens sideways over mine, my jaw aches to match him, but oh God, it’s so worth it. I’ve never been kissed like this, even by him. There’s no holding back or even the idea of it. At first, it’s a claim of ownership, his low growls and stroking tongue leaving me no choice but to sign on the dotted line. After that, after my responsive mouth and tipped-back head agree to whatever he wants, Greer becomes a man testing out what he now owns. He sucks each lip, razing them with bared teeth, dives in for deep tastes of my mouth. So deep and long and hungry, I forget what it’s like to breathe.

That possessive hand never leaves my core, continuing to hold it tightly, but not moving his fingers or giving friction. It’s like he wants my focus only on his mouth, so I give it to him. I have no choice. Everything inside me begs to do what he wants. My nipples are in tight points against his chest, and I can’t help it, I twist a little in his hold, earning the rasp of his uniform shirt. I’m so worked up, so hot, the sensation makes me break away on a gasp.

“Fuck,” Greer pants, tilting his hips against me. “I should have known kissing you wouldn’t be enough.”

“Definitely, definitely not enough.”

He heaves a frustrated exhale, then my mouth seems to draw him back in. His pupils are dilated, sweat appearing in the hollow of his throat. Just as he’s leaning toward me again, eyelids drooping, the phone goes off on his hip. “Shit.”

We both take a moment to absorb what’s going to be very difficult to explain to my body. That kiss wasn’t foreplay. It was all that can reasonably happen tonight. I’m feeling pretty unreasonable, though. Every part of me is so ready for what should happen next, I think I sob a little when Greer removes his hand from between my thighs and steps back, answering the call.

“This is Burns.” He listens for a moment, but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “I’ll be right over.” He ends the call with a sigh, but makes no move to leave.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

His forehead creases. “I actually believe you.”

“You should. I’m going to be in your shoes someday, remember?”

That bothers him—the fact that I’m going to be a cop. That I’m going to have a dangerous job. The kind that could potentially lead to me ending up like his partner. Why? Why did I say that? We were just closer than two people can get. Now here we are one minute later, and there’s a divide. Greer looks away, wheels turning behind his eyes, but they return to me after a moment. “Remember what I said about the party.”

I’m back to being vulnerable, so I compensate by picking up the case of beer and heading for my parents’ apartment. “You’re not in charge anymore.”

“Danika.”

If he didn’t sound kind of miserable, I wouldn’t relent. But he does. “Fine.”

I watch from outside the apartment door as he goes down a couple of steps, transforming back into the hard-ass lieutenant, instead of the man who told me he likes both sides of me. It’s that reminder of what he said that propels me into calling out to him, unable to let him go out onto the streets without something positive between us.

“Hey, Grim Reaper.”

He slows to a stop and waits.

“I’m not out of your system yet.” Propping the beer on my hip, I turn my key in the lock and push open the apartment door. “Call you tomorrow.”

He’s still unmoving on the stairs when I disappear inside.

By midnight I’m alone in the kitchen of my parents’ apartment. It’s pretty clean considering the amount of people that were here. Not to mention, Charlie, Jack, Ever and Katie stayed after to help me clean up. At one point, I heard Charlie muttering something about not wanting to incur the wrath of his brother, making me curious if I’m not the only one to whom Greer attempted to teach a lesson tonight.

How do I feel about Greer looking out for me? I . . . love it. My head tells me it’s unnecessary and he’s being a bossy control freak, but the reminder that Greer didn’t want me exhausting myself makes my chest feel light. At least until I recall that kiss in the hallway and every part of me goes tight and heavy. What am I going to do about this man?

I’m too tired to think about it tonight. I assured my roommates I wouldn’t be traveling across town tonight alone, that I would crash on my parents’ couch and come home in the morning. After one more task, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. The snores coming from my parents’ room bring a smile to my face as I pick up the final blue recycling bag full of bottles, intending to leave it outside in the fenced garbage area. I’m back in my yoga pants and rocking a pair of my mother’s flip-flops, much to the relief of my aching feet.

Careful not to clink bottles together and wake the neighbors, I creep down to street level and exit the building, my keys tucked into my pocket. Quietly as possible, I ease the blue bag into the recycling bin and turn to let myself back inside. When I hear approaching voices behind me, though, I glance back over my shoulder.

I don’t recognize the two males walking past on the sidewalk at first, because they have their hoodies up. But those hoodies are exactly what trip my memory. It’s the kids from the yogurt shop. The ones who wanted to use Robbie to set up an inside job.

My keys are digging into my palm, blood whistling in my ears as I turn and unlock the door, doing my best to keep my face hidden. It’s a glass door, however, and they might be able to see my reflection. I don’t know. But this isn’t good. They might have been stupid enough to post their robbery plans on Facebook—which is the reason the cops showed up—but I shouted at my cousin to come out with his hands up. They heard me. If they see me right now, I’m not sure how they’re going to react. They’re clearly not the most reasonable people on earth.

“Hey,” one of them shouts at me. “Hold up.”

I force my hands to cooperate and they do, allowing me to slide into the building and close the self-locking door behind me. Just before it clicks shut, though, I hear a couple of fast footfalls, and I turn around on instinct to face the threat. The blonde who I remember is right outside the door, another darker-haired kid just over his shoulder. Their eyes are bloodshot, like they’ve hit the pot a little too hard tonight, but even with glassy eyes, their expressions are hard. Intimidating. I can easily see how my cousin had a hard time denying them what they wanted.

“That’s her,” the dirty blonde shouts through the glass. “Fucking cop.”

“Your little cousin with you?” says the other one. “He thinks we’re going to forget he called his cop cousin on us? He thinks he can switch his classes around and hide forever? That’s not how it works.”

The blonde raps on the glass with his knuckles. “You hearing this, bitch? You and Robbie better watch your asses. It’s a small neighborhood.”

Which must be how they found out I’m training to be a cop. I haven’t forgotten they had a gun that day in the yogurt shop. The cops might have confiscated it as evidence, but if these guys were motivated enough to procure one weapon, they could have another. With that in mind, I’m watching their body language and backing toward the stairs while they continue to taunt me. Pride won’t let me run, plus I think they would be more inclined to come after me if I did.

Stay calm. Greer is in my ear, telling me to get my ass upstairs. For once, I listen, my throat burned raw as I move upward at a fast clip. They continue calling me names as I go, and when I reach the second floor, my parents’ elderly neighbor is standing in his doorway, a television flickering behind him.

“Everything all right, Danika?”

“Yes, Mr. Leary,” I reply, keeping my tone light. “Just some kids acting up, but I think they’re moving on.”

He gives a bleary wave, and we retreat into our apartments. Once inside my parents’ place, I secure the dead bolt, the knob lock and the rusty chain. Then I lean back against the door, breathing until my pulse returns to normal.

First thing in the morning, I’m going to file a police report. I have to. I was stupid enough once to think I could handle these kids on my own, but I’ve learned my lesson, and I’ve learned it good. Calling the school and making sure they’re aware of the threat to my cousin is added to my mental checklist. There’s one more item that should go on the list—telling Greer what just happened—but I hesitate.

This is exactly what he’s afraid of. If they’d done more than threaten me downstairs, if I hadn’t made it into the building fast enough . . . I don’t really want to imagine the possibilities. Plus, they told me to watch myself, implying they’re not going to let the incident at the yogurt shop drop. Greer is already paranoid about people he considers his responsibility being hurt. Or worse. He’s mega stressed with the daily toll of his job. So stressed he practically let himself get hit with gunfire.

The memory of him lying on the ground sends a shudder through me. We made progress tonight. He showed up. He’s been opening up to me. If I go directly to Greer, what happened downstairs could be the equivalent of upending a checkers board. He’ll flip. If I’ve made any progress in convincing him that something real in his life wouldn’t be disastrous, it would be obliterated.

So I’ll compromise. I’ll file the report at my own Hell’s Kitchen precinct. If Greer gets wind, so be it. I’m going to the police. I’m making up for my lack of foresight last time.

Aren’t I?

Yes.

Blowing out a breath, I cross to the front window in the living room and look down at the street. There’s no one near the door or on the sidewalk. They must have moved on. Swiping my phone off the coffee table, I make notes while the incident is fresh in my head, writing down their threat word for word. When I’m done, my fingers hover over Greer’s speed dial. One phone call. One call could ruin everything.

I don’t make it.